Up the road, afternoon. I like Marcelle.

"Always with your camera." said Marcelle

"One never knows." I reply

" True. If you don't have it and you see something, then you say 'if only I had my camera!' "

Down the road, afternoon.

Walking briskly, just to the corner, rain all day. I'll light a fire when we get in; a bright fire on a cold wet spring evening is a cheery thing.

Streets of Lannion, lunchtime.

Mol is in holiday mode, pounding the pavements and sniffing the corners of a strange town, sitting patiently under a restaurant table to be fed tidbits, from Tom, not me.

Up the road, afternoon

North facing on the watershed, we're the last to know about spring, first to say goodbye to autumn.

Only now, a single cherry flower passes it along, she's heard something...

Up the road, afternoon

'Golden girls and lads all must
As chimney sweepers come to dust'

is all about dandelions. Their jolly yellow heads turn to chimney sweeps' brushes, then blow away as dust.

St Igneuc, afternoon

Iso and Ilan and Athos and Pippa and Molly and I all went walking. The wind was chill, but baby and dogs were snug and warm in their fluffy coats.

Trédaniel plan d'eau, afternoon

We hurry round in the chilly air having dropped off the garagist, regardless of floating flowers and spring leaves, eager to get back to admire the new shiny silver arrival ...

Up the road, afternoon,10 x 3

Marcel's purple aubretia,

Crabtree in leaf,

Layers of landscape,

Oaks still bare,

Tractor spraying wide,

Oddly ordered cattle,

Indolent red bull,

Two yellow plants,

Faraway blue sea,

Walking into April.

Woods above Moncontour, morning.

I walk hard, without pausing, to the closed Chapel. We sit briefly, touch the stones, return, short of time. Light, air, water, calm slightly the annoying chatter in my head.

Down the road, afternoon.

An anomalous burst of sunlight causes the eolians on the plain below to stand out like six strange angels, the grain silos like the celestial city. A kestrel hangs above.

Up the road, afternoon

The oddity of grains of snow falling on spring flowers out of a sunny sky. If what they say is true, the Inuit must surely have a word for it.

Up the road, afternoon

My very large neighbour Josette and her quite large dog Dolly chug towards me in her very small voiturette, and stop. They are, I learn, looking for a lost cat.

The old railtrack, Gare de Moncontour, afternoon

A tranquil place, though not quiet. The sounds of water pouring over rock, a low hum of traffic in the valley, thushes, blackbirds, robins, a woodpecker's yaffle, an onomatapoeic chiffchaff...

Woods above Moncontour, afternoon.

A carnage of tree felling affords a wealth of photographs.

A small plaque on a stick in a slough of mud announces the obvious - 'boue'.

Anemones, celandine, periwinkles, primroses, violets.

Up the road, evening (after the change of hour).

Late light evenings, after-dinner walks, compensate for pre-dawn starts again. The air is cooling, thickened with birdsong; we sniff and look at and listen to the world around us contentedly.